


Which Will Not Withdraw From Us

by catatonic1242



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time, Dry Humping, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Pining, Pining Dean Winchester, Slash, Supernatural Kink Bingo 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 06:36:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14731815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catatonic1242/pseuds/catatonic1242
Summary: Dean finally gets that beach vacation he's been wanting when Team Free Will 2.0 rents a house in the Outer Banks.





	Which Will Not Withdraw From Us

**Author's Note:**

> _“Each person deserves a day away in which no problems are confronted, no solutions searched for. Each of us needs to withdraw from the cares which will not withdraw from us.”_ \- Maya Angelou
> 
> Written for [SPN Kink Bingo.](http://spnkinkbingo.tumblr.com)
> 
> Depending on who you ask, I took a bit of liberty with the Cygnus story.
> 
> Read the tags, please - they are in order. Don't say I didn't warn you.
> 
> Post 13.23. Here be spoilers.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr.](http://catatonic1242.tumblr.com)

It’s the best vacation Dean has ever had.

Hell, it’s the only vacation Dean can remember having, with the possible exception of that visit to the lake several years ago. But that doesn’t even count, because it was like 12 hours long and he didn’t even finish two beers before they hit the road again.

This one is well-earned. 

They rented a beach house in the Outer Banks, just south of Corolla. They can’t drive on the beach here, which is just fine with Dean - he wouldn’t take the risk of rolling Baby out onto the sand, anyway. Some of the places further north let 4x4s out on the beach, and though Sam had whined about wanting to go up there and see wild horses, even he had to admit that there was more appeal in a carless beach. 

It’s just the four of them - Jack, Cas, Sam and Dean. They’d invited Mary and Bobby, but they declined, mumbling something about holding down the fort. Sure, Dean suspects there’s something else going on there, but he doesn’t really care. Not in a negative way; if anything, he’s happy for them. He just doesn’t care how people make themselves happy anymore. As long as no one gets hurt, he’s good. If Dean has learned anything from the last year, it’s that happiness can be fleeting so you’ve gotta seize the moment before it slips through your fingers.

Yep. Seize the moment. 

That’s what he’s been working himself up to for the last week. Seizing the moment. 

*****

He almost seizes it at dinner the first night. 

They are at the barbeque joint down the main drag from their house. Dean has finally managed to convince Cas to at least try a little bit of the pulled pork, despite Cas’ protests that it wouldn’t taste like anything to him. Dean pouts and maybe even whines a little, and Cas relents. He accidentally smears a little bit of barbeque sauce at the corner of his mouth when he bites into Dean’s sandwich, and as Cas chews contemplatively, Dean leans toward him. He has every intention of planting a kiss right on that spot, until a somewhat crestfallen look passes over Cas’ face. 

“I can’t taste it, I’m sorry,” he says. 

Dean leans back and hands him a napkin.

*****

He almost does it again the second day, on the beach. 

Jack and Sam have left him and Cas alone in their beach chairs under the umbrella while Sammy shows Jack how to catch waves using floats. The sand is hot on the surface but cool and moist when Dean digs his toes in. “Whole Lotta Love” is playing, volume low, from the waterproof speaker Sam had insisted they bring (Dean isn’t too mad about that, frankly). 

Cas is wearing a fucking swimsuit, which is… something else. They’d all gone to one of those ubiquitous surf shops on the drive to the shore. After warning Cas against “banana hammocks” at least three times, Dean actually left Cas to his own devices regarding swimwear. He wasn’t sure what to expect when Cas made his way up to the register, but the light blue trunks he’d picked weren’t bad at all. 

On the beach, Dean pulls two beers out of the green cooler and hands one to Cas. As he does, their fingers touch, overlapping on the cool brown bottle, and Dean feels that old familiar heat rush through him. He feels it every time he touches Cas. He looks down at their hands, licks his lips and takes a deep breath. 

Just then, Cas bursts into a riot of laughter. It startles Dean - he’s never heard Cas laugh that loud. When Dean turns to look at the cause, he sees Sam and Jack wash up to shore in a pile of tangled limbs, Sam’s face covered in sand, their floats drifting away on the surf. He hears Jack shout, “I’m trying again” as he extricates himself from Sam and goes chasing his float. Sam is slower to rise, but Dean sees him smile as he shakes his head in exasperation. When Dean turns his attention back to Cas, the moment has passed but the smile remains, crinkling the corners of Cas’ eyes.

*****

The third time, it is nearly midnight.

He and Cas are the last ones left sitting outside by the fire pit under an inky black sky full of dazzling stars. Sam had turned in early - he was making up for lost sleep on this vacation, he claimed, citing something about studies on sleep debt. Jack followed soon after; though he hadn’t needed much sleep as a fully charged nephilim, he was lower on grace after their triumph over Lucifer, and he slept more now as he recharged. So that left Dean and Cas - Cas, who never needed sleep, and Dean, who was irrationally scared every time that he fell asleep that he’d wake up from this wonderful dream. 

The fire is dying and Dean is down to the last inch of the last beer, nursing it for an excuse to stay outside. 

Cas stares up at the sky. Dean stares unabashedly at Cas’ lips. He has just convinced himself to lean in when Cas nods upward and says, “That’s Cygnus.”

“Huh?” Dean answers, still turned in his chair, poised on the edge of the moment. 

“That constellation,” Cas says, gesturing up at the sky with one pointed finger, “is Cygnus. Cygnus and Phaeton were best friends. They flew too close to the sun and their chariots burned. They both fell to Earth.” 

Cas sighs, a small, breathy gesture, and traces the path of the stars with his eyes. 

In that moment, Dean is struck by how incomprehensibly _old_ Cas is. How he has seen civilizations rise and fall and rise again once more. 

Cas continues. “Cygnus searched and searched for Phaeton, but Phaeton died in the fall and his body was pinned at the bottom of a river. Cygnus begged Zeus to help him, so Zeus offered to make Cygnus into a swan so that he could swim into the river and claim Phaeton’s body. But if he became a swan, Cygnus would lose his immortality. Cygnus so loved his friend that he took the deal so that he could retrieve the body and send Phaeton to the afterlife.” Cas finally looks over at Dean, a faint smile twitching up the corners of his mouth.

Dean returns the expression then looks away, finishing the rest of his beer in one gulp. “Zeus was a dick,” he supplies.

*****

He spends the next day split between 1) loving every second of his vacation, 2) mentally slapping himself for being a chicken shit and 3) looking for an opportunity to finally do some seizing. 

It doesn’t come until that evening, as Dean is making his way to the shared bathroom, one of two in the house and the closest to his room. He desperately needs to brush his teeth. He’d put extra onions on the burgers he’d grilled for dinner, and his breath is… questionable, at best.

Cas opens the door to exit the bathroom at the same time Dean reaches for the handle to enter, and Dean almost falls into him. 

“Whu-” Dean says, trying to right himself. 

Cas reaches out with one had to steady him by the shoulder. 

As he regains his balance, Dean takes everything in. Cas is wearing pajamas.

Not, like, pajama pajamas, none of that matchy matchy stuff, thank god. But he is wearing pajama bottoms, orange and blue plaid and pooling around his ankles like something Sam would have loaned him. He has paired them with a grey v-neck t-shirt that looks equal parts too big and too small - it is far too long for him but also tight in the biceps. 

Dean stares at his arms for just a little too long before Cas clears his throat. 

“My apologies,” Cas says, stepping forward and to his left a little, trying to walk past Dean, who is blocking the doorway in his distraction. “I was just changing.”

Dean blinks and clears his throat. “Sammy loan you those?” he gestures to the pants.

“Yes. He thought maybe, even though I don’t sleep, I would appreciate a more casual outfit for the evenings. He indicated there should be a middle ground between swim trunks and my suit.”

“Yeah, but dude, you look like you’re playing dress-up. C’mon, let me get you something that fits.”

Cas looks down at his pants and lifts one foot off of the floor. The pants immediately slide down to cover his toes. 

“Yes, I suppose that would be nice,” he answers.

Dean turns and walks the few feet down the hallway to his own room, flicking on the light. He opens a drawer in the whitewashed-beach-cottage-dresser and flips through a couple of things until he finds and pulls out a pair of blue drawstring lounge pants. He closes that drawer and opens the one below it, thumbing through shirts until he finds one of his old AC/DC tees. 

When he closes the drawer, he turns around to find Cas almost impossibly close. Dean looks down at Cas’ lips.

“Dean?” Cas asks, his tone more an answer than a question, really. 

But then Dean remembers the onions on the burgers and why he’d been going to the bathroom in the first place. He backs up and keeps his teeth clenched as he says, “These should fit you better.” Dean shoves the clothes at a bewildered Cas and scurries off to the bathroom.

*****

That same night, Dean wakes up when it is still dark outside. He’s had a very strange dream. He can’t remember the details, but some images stay with him: The bunker. Cas’ stricken face as he said, “Dean, no.” A church. Sam’s wide smile twisting into terror.

It isn’t a nightmare, at least not the kind he’s used to. The ones about the orphaned children, the widowed wives, the mourning husbands, those are familiar. Sometimes he has nightmares about Hell. About Alastair. About Kevin, Charlie, his mom. But this isn’t a nightmare like any of those. He didn’t wake up screaming, just confused and vaguely queasy.

The clock on the bedside table reads 1:23. 

He slips his feet out of bed. The soft slapping noise that his footprints make on the bare tile floor help chase away whatever he’s been dreaming of. Help ground him, literally. He pads his way up the short flight of stairs and into the kitchen. When he opens the fridge, he has to squint and let his eyes adjust against the light.

He debates for a long moment, then snags a beer from the middle shelf. Closing the refrigerator, he turns to twist off the cap and finds himself face to face with Cas.

“Cas…” he exhales, startled. “Don’t do that, man.”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas replies. He doesn’t back away. There are only a few inches between their faces, enough that Dean could just lean forward and…

He doesn’t. Instead, he freezes. Standing barefoot in the middle of the kitchen, back to the fridge, unopened beer in one hand and Cas kissably close, Dean freezes.

Cas doesn’t freeze. He reaches forward and takes the bottle out of Dean’s hand, reaching past him to put it down on the counter. “I’m going to just do something, Dean, and if I have been misinterpreting things then I hope you can forgive me, but it’s been ten years and I have to know.”

Then Cas leans forward, closing the small space between them. And then, oh god, then, his lips are on Dean’s lips.

Their first kiss is soft, short and perfect. When it’s over, almost as soon as it’s begun, Dean doesn’t open his eyes right away. He has to resist the urge to put his fingers to his lips.

“Dean?” Cas asks, quiet, tentative.

Dean finally opens his eyes. Cas is still close, his face a strange mixture of hope and doubt.

Dean finally moves, reaching forward and grabbing Cas by his arms, the same strong biceps he’d stared at earlier. Before he can think, almost like intuition, Dean pulls Cas in and kisses him again.

The second kiss is significantly less chaste than the first.

It starts slow, the intimate slide of Dean’s lips over Cas’, until Cas opens his mouth just slightly, allowing Dean’s tongue inside. Dean flicks his tongue lightly over Cas’, tasting him. Cas tastes exactly like Dean had always imagined he would - like the air after a lightning storm. Cas pushes back with his own tongue and Dean lets him, trading tastes as the kiss grows deeper.

One of Dean’s hands travels upward as if of its own volition, tracing over Cas’ shoulder, around to his upper back and then further, his fingers tangling in the thick clutch of hair at the back of Cas’ neck. His other hand moves down, along Cas’ arm, over his elbow and warm forearm, stopping when Dean laces their fingers together.

Cas sounds a muffled groan and opens his mouth a little wider. His free hand dips down to Dean’s waist, and he inches his thumb between Dean’s t-shirt and pants, rubbing small, unconscious circles with his thumb on the inch of exposed skin there.

Dean runs his tongue over the back of Cas’ front teeth, then withdraws to bite lightly at his lower lip. Cas squeezes his hand, and Dean tilts his head slightly, kissing the corner of Cas’ mouth. Then he moves further, dropping a trail of open-mouthed kisses to Cas’ neck. Cas leans to allow Dean easier access to his skin, and Dean takes full advantage. He nips and licks and sucks at the flesh under Cas’ ear until Cas tightens his grip on Dean’s hip and pulls him forward. 

Their bodies aligned, Dean feels the full press of Cas against him, and it pools warm heat in his belly. Dean wonders, briefly, if Cas can feel his heart pounding against his chest. That thought, and all other thoughts, vanishes completely when Cas wraps his hand around Dean’s back, sliding his rough palm against Dean’s skin. Cas slots one foot between Dean’s. The position brings their groins into full contact, and Dean chokes back a whimper when he feels Cas’ hardening cock against his own.

Cas snags Dean’s lips in another deep kiss, then tilts his forehead against Dean’s. “So,” he asks, the low rumble of his voice resonating through Dean’s chest, “I am not misinterpreting?”

Dean gulps down a breath. He grinds his crotch against Cas and says, “No. No, you are not.”

Cas grins, a smile Dean has never seen him wear before, like the cat who just caught the canary. It’s lascivious, and it makes Dean harder in his sweatpants. He tugs on Cas’ hand. “C’mere,” he says, walking backwards, leading them across the kitchen and into the living room. When the backs of Dean’s calves brush up against the sofa, he sits and pulls Cas down to him.

Cas straddles Dean’s lap. He puts a hand on each side of Dean’s face, his thumbs just below his ears, fingers running through Dean’s hair. The look in Cas’ eyes is like the sun - too intense to look at - so Dean tilts his own face up and catches Cas with another kiss. Cas rocks down onto Dean as their tongues slide together. In response, Dean wraps his arms around Cas’ middle and rucks up the AC/DC shirt, exposing the bare skin of his back. Dean presses his palms down, squeezing at every muscle he can reach, pulling his fingernails gently down Cas’ spine. Cas breaks away for just a moment, long enough to pull the tee over his own head. The quick gesture leaves his hair rumpled and messy as he tosses the shirt aside and reclaims Dean’s mouth with his own.

They kiss again, and then Cas’ mouth disappears down to the tendon in Dean’s neck. He nibbles at the sensitive skin there and Dean makes a satisfied noise. Then Cas reaches over Dean’s shoulders and pulls at his t-shirt, gathering the back of it. Dean leans back just a little, far enough for Cas to pull his shirt up and off, and it is tossed aside to join Cas’ on the floor. Then Dean leans forward again, running grateful, eager hands up and down Cas’ naked back. 

Cas tilts, snugging his chin over Dean’s shoulder so that their chests are pressed together. “I want you,” he says matter-of-factly. 

Dean takes the opportunity to slide a hand down to Cas’ ass and grab on. Then he bucks his hips up, grinding their still covered erections together. Cas tips his head back a bit and groans. In response, Dean slips his tongue back into Cas’ open mouth. They move in sync, against each other, Cas pushing down as Dean thrusts up. Dean moves his hand to join the other on Cas’ ass, and Cas twines his arms around Dean’s neck. Their tongues move back and forth, sparring, tasting, swallowing each other’s moans.

It is Cas who breaks the kiss first, backing off of Dean’s legs and rising to stand. Dean makes a small, sad noise of protest, but when Cas quickly lowers and steps out of his own pants, Dean shuts up and lifts his hips to pull off his own. As soon as they are both fully naked, Cas returns right back to where he was.

It’s almost too much for Dean the first time their cocks touch - too many years of tension, of fantasies concocted during long, hot showers, too much time with things left unspoken. Cas seems to sense that, and he doesn’t move much after he settles in. He just puts his arms back around Dean’s neck and kisses him, the same soft, sweet kiss that was their first. Dean returns the kiss, and soon they are planting gentle kisses on eyelids, foreheads, jawlines and chins. 

Quickly enough, the urgent need to press against each other returns, and Dean can’t stop his own hips from thrusting up. Again, Cas mirrors Dean’s motions perfectly, skin against skin, their cocks pressed between each other, pinned between their stomachs.

The friction is so good, better than Dean ever imagined all those times he pictured something like this. So it’s even better, jaw-dropping, when Cas scoots his hips back a few inches, licks a path along his palm and then takes them both together in his moist hand. 

Dean can’t help the obscene noise that he makes at the sight. It’s his cock and Cas’ cock together in Cas’ hand, and Cas knows just the right pressure to use. When he looks up at Cas, Cas is studying them, too, his brow furrowed in concentration. It makes Dean smile. He raises a thumb up and presses it against the worry lines. “So good, Cas,” he assures.

Cas smiles at Dean. It unleashes a torrent of words, like a dam cracking, then bursting. 

“So good, Cas, so damn good, I’ve wanted this for so long, I can’t even… You’re… Oh, yeah, that’s so fucking hot, Cas, Cas, Cas,” he babbles, chanting Cas’ name when he runs out of words. Cas circles his hand around the head of their cocks, smearing the wetness of their combined precome onto his fingers, then resumes his ministrations. 

Soon, Dean is bucking his hips up into Cas’ hand, their coordinated sliding bringing him closer. He reaches one of his own hands down and wraps it around Cas’, one finger between each of his so that Dean can feel, can actually touch, their cocks together. He feels his orgasm growing, clenching his muscles, rising. Dean squeezes their joined hands and thrusts, once, twice, three times and then comes, a strangled noise sounding from his throat as he paints their fingers with come. 

He takes no time for himself, not a moment to relax and bask, because Dean needs to see Cas come. He needs it like he needs to breathe, needs it even more than he needed his own orgasm - needs it like something he has been missing for a decade. He bats Cas’ hand away and settles his own hand, wet and sticky and warm, at the base of Cas’ cock. He circles his fingers tightly and strokes, tightening at the head then relaxing just a bit down to the base and up again. Dean watches Cas’ face as he repeats the motion.

It only takes a few more strokes for Cas to come, and it’s everything Dean wanted and nothing he expected. Cas is not loud, does not cry out, doesn’t warn Dean or say his name. Instead, Cas parts his lips and exhales softly, then holds perfectly still as the orgasm rockets through him. Dean stares at his face while coaxing him through it until Cas is spent. Then Dean closes his eyes and leans forward to rest his forehead on Cas’ chest.

“Well, that was… something.” Dean hasn’t spoken, but it’s also not Cas’ voice. Dean startles and looks up to find himself, naked, straddling his own thighs, right where Cas had been only moments before.

“What the - what the fuck?!” Dean hisses, planting two hands firmly on the other Dean’s chest and pushing. The other Dean will not be moved, however.

“I mean, man, ten years, we get what we want and we go with frottage and a handjob? Seriously?” Other Dean looks at him skeptically. “That’s our perfect fantasy? I mean, it’s pathetic enough that we can’t even bring ourselves to make the first move, but dude, even in our own _head_ we’re too afraid to take it up the ass?”

Dean shoves again, and this time the other Dean moves, standing up but not backing away. His cock is right at Dean’s eye level, and Dean turns his head away in disgust. “What the fuck are you talking about, ‘in our own head’? Cas was right here! What did you do to him?” 

Other Dean grabs Dean’s chin in his hand and forces him to turn his head to look himself in the eye. “This isn’t reality, you fucking moron.”

Dean yanks his chin away and rises, sliding past himself. “Where is Cas?” he demands. “What the fuck did you do? What are you, a shifter?”

“Seriously, me,” the other Dean rolls his eyes, “we know I’m not a shapeshifter. We know this isn’t real.”

“Where the hell is Cas?” Dean demands again.

“He’s out there, in the real world, trying to get to us. Jesus Christ, am I really this thick?”

“Okay, no. Cas is - Cas was right here,” Dean points at the empty place on the couch, “until you did something to him. So you’re a demon?” 

“Holy shit, I _am_ this thick.” The other Dean pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “Look, Dean. This isn’t _real_. You can test me, holy water me, cut me with a silver knife, whatever, but think about it, man. How did you defeat Lucifer?”

Dean slumps his shoulders. “He busted through the rift into the Apocalypse World. Some vamps took Sam. Sam died. Lucifer brought him back, and when he came back to the camp with Sam, Jack killed him.”

Other Dean scoffs. “God, okay, so our wildest sex fantasies are pathetically tame and we don’t even bother to make up stories that make _sense_. That’s not what happened.”

“Then what the fuck DID happen?” Dean yells. “You say I don’t make sense, but you’re talking in riddles, jackass.” 

“You know what happened,” the other Dean helpfully supplies. “You just don’t want to remember. Think about it. What happened after Lucifer brought Sam back to the camp?”

Despite himself (or maybe because of himself, whatever), Dean thinks back. He remembers Sam walking into the camp, how happy Dean was to see his brother, even if Lucifer was right behind him. And what happened next… Oh. Shit.

Shit. 

“Shit.” Dean says it outloud once, then again. “Shit.”

“There we go!” the other Dean exclaims. “We’re finally getting it.”

There’s not another word as the realization washes over Dean. “Shit.”

Again, the other Dean rolls his eyes. “Yep, we always have been good with words, haven’t we? Could we move this fucking revelation along at a faster clip, please? There’s some, you know, major shit going down out there in the real world and we’ve gotta…”

“Kick Michael out,” Dean interrupts.

“Bingo!” the other Dean snaps his fingers and points at Dean. “So, expel him and let’s get back to it, shall we?”

Dean blinks. Bile rises in his stomach, an acid at the back of his throat. He’s right, he knows. He’s got to get back, got to get back to Cas. 

Of course he can read his own thoughts. “Yeah, yeah, back to Cas, back to Sam, back to Mom and Jack and everyone else, okay?”

Back to Cas.

“Man, Michael’s got us trapped in here, living our sad little fantasy like we’re his bitch, looping it over and over just to shut us up,” the other Dean insists. “It’s some Clockwork Orange crap happening in here. Hurry up and expel him.”

Back to Cas.

“Dude, are you even hearing yourself? Me? Whatever, listen to me,” the other Dean tries again. “Cas, Cas is on the outside. In the real world. Better than what’s in here.” Other Dean takes a step back, crosses his arms and says pointedly, “Better than handjobs. The _real thing_ is out there.”

Back to Cas.

Dean takes a step toward himself, then another. “What the fuck are you doing?” the other Dean asks. 

“Getting back to Cas,” Dean answers. He closes the final space that separates him from himself and closes his eyes, leaning in and kissing. 

When Dean opens his eyes again, Cas is standing in front of him, still stark naked, a sly smile on his face. “Hello, Dean,” he breathes.

It’s the best vacation Dean has ever had.


End file.
